One Take
by freudian fuckup
Summary: Pornstar AU with a heart of gold.


**It's like I'm having a get-kicked-off-the-site/hard drive clean-out extravaganza! **

**So, this is the sequel to a fabulous, porn-tastic story by the lovely ifyouweremine, posted here.  
** ifyouweremine. livejournal. com/ 153564. html (I am, apparently, coding illiterate today, so just... take out the spaces)  
**You should read it first, because it's _awesome_, but if you don't, just know that Merlin and Arthur are porn stars and the Dragon is their weirdly-enthusiastic photographer.**

* * *

The problem is, they've gotten _too _good at what they do. Over the past year, and the course of no less than ten shoots, Merlin and Arthur have fallen into a comfortable pattern of sniping banter, brain-melting sex (on camera, of course), and not talking afterwards. At all. As in, sometimes, by the time Merlin's gotten all the come out of his eyelashes, Arthur has fled the building.

Unfortunately, this time, the building is a lavish country estate, and since it's a two-day shoot, no one is leaving, not even for the night. Also, they're about to get fired.

"I don't care how many copies of Buns & Guns your dick sold, this is my shoot, and if I say the take is crap, then the take is crap!" Morgana, their lovely, extremely frightening director is shouting.

They've been at it for hours and no one is even naked yet. What's throwing them off is this bloody _scene_, where they play two friends, business partners, who slowly discover they're in love before having lots of passionate, well-lit sex. Granted, it reads like someone's unpublished romance novel, but it's more dialogue than Merlin's ever had without the words "harder," "faster," or "more," so he's willing to give it his all. Unfortunately, every time they try for intense, smoldering affection, it comes off looking like Merlin's about to throw up and Arthur's about to punch him. According to Morgana.

"Ridiculous," Arthur mutters while the crew resets for the next take. "How in the hell is anyone supposed to believe I'd pine after _you_?"

Merlin rolls his eyes. "You could try, you know, acting."

Arthur stares like Merlin's asked him to bottom.

The next take is the worst yet.

"Enough!" Morgana screams in lieu of _Cut!_ "You two!" She gestures Merlin and Arthur closer. "I've seen more convincing performances in a Girls Gone Wild video. When I hired you, they said you worked well together. You've fucked before, right?"

They both nod with varying levels of enthusiasm.

"Then why is it you can shove your cock up his arse, but when I need you to stare longingly into one another's eyes, _that's_ too gay for you?" she asks, clearly rhetorically.

They both offer half-formed apologies, but Morgana's already grabbed a bullhorn from some hapless production assistant.

"Alright, everyone. Since our stars have misplaced their acting skills, we're going to skip ahead to bedroom scene," she announces.

A flurry of movement breaks out, with crew running every which way trying to get the next set ready. Merlin and Arthur are shuffled off into an empty sitting room and told not to wander off until someone comes to fetch them. As soon as they're alone, it starts.

"I can't believe this is even _happening_," Arthur groans, flinging himself into the nearest chair. It's a tall, upholstered wingback, and it reminds Merlin of his grandmother's house.

"It's not my fault you can't look in my eyes without forgetting yourself," Merlin replies, pacing the hideous green carpeted floor.

"What? Shut up," Arthur says absently. "I could be shooting Cock Sluts Volume 2 _and_ 3 this weekend, but no. Instead I'm doing porn for girls with sodding _you_."

"Why are you even here then?" Merlin snaps.

"Because it'll be good for my career," Arthur says, clearly using someone else's words. "And, I don't know, I figured if you were doing it," he adds, trailing off with a vague hand gesture.

Merlin stumbles. "Couldn't stand the thought of someone else's come temporarily blinding me?"

"What?" Arthur says, sounding legitimately taken aback. "No, what the fuck? I just thought if you were doing it—well, we're sort of a set at this point, aren't we?"

Merlin has never thought of it in those terms, per say, but as soon as Arthur says it, Merlin finds he's not as offended as he should be. "We don't even talk," he says, unintentionally earnest. He meant to say _I guess I just know how to get a rise out of you_ or something equally sharp, but suddenly it's brutal honesty time, and Merlin didn't even bring his lacy knickers for the occasion.

"I try to distance myself from my costars," Arthur says quietly.

"But you took this job because of me?"

Arthur frowns. "I didn't say that."

"Actually, you sort of _did_," Merlin points out, trying not to sound too invested.

"Are you always this annoying? No wonder we don't talk," Arthur snaps.

"Sorry," Merlin mutters.

"I can stop, if you'd like," Arthur says.

"What?"

"Taking jobs where you're… there. Or whatever," Arthur says, fidgeting in his seat.

Merlin pauses, considering. He should probably take Arthur up on this offer for several reasons, not the least of which being the fact that when Merlin heard who his costar was, he breathed a sigh of relief and maybe had a wank.

"Don't," he says, defeated. Arthur looks up, expectantly. "I mean, it's fine. I'd rather—I suppose, all things being equal, I'd rather it were you anyway."

Arthur opens his mouth to say something, but seems to catch himself. He smiles, quiet and smug.

"Oh, stop that," Merlin snaps. "Makes you look slow."

Arthur chuckles. "Sorry," he says, sounding completely insincere.

They sit in comfortable silence for a few more minutes, until one of the cameramen wanders in, sandwich in hand, and tells them they're needed on set. Arthur says thank you, because he's sickeningly polite like that, and they make their way back towards the lights and sound. Merlin doesn't say anything when Arthur holds the door for him, or when he puts a hand on the small of Merlin's back as they walk, and fortunately for Merlin's fraying sanity, neither does Arthur.

-

The scene goes well. _Really_ well. Too well, in fact, for Merlin's comfort. They start out peeling the clothes from each other's bodies, slowly, deliberately, until they're standing naked in front of one another, barely touching, breathing one another's air.

Never let it be said that Merlin isn't a professional. He's not one of those silly twinks who thinks having sex on camera will repair his self-worth or fix his daddy issues, and he's an expert at detaching his brain from his body when the occasion calls for it—but when Arthur steps in, his chest warm and hands soft against Merlin's hips, everything blurs, and for a moment, he has to focus on remembering this isn't real, that Arthur's lips pressed to his forehead, his temple, the thin skin at the corner of his eye are part of the scene, just a very convincing ad-lib, not a, nothing that's, it's not—

And then he forgets entirely.

They stumble toward the bed, legs getting tangled until they fall, Arthur sprawled across his chest. He trails his mouth along Merlin's throat, down one shoulder, lower, until he's sucking a bruise to Merlin's left hip, biting at the small jut of bone, his breath ghosting across Merlin's cock. Usually, it takes a little while before Merlin's body catches up with his acting skills, but right now he's terrified Arthur will move that extra inch, take Merlin in his mouth, and that he'll come _way_ before his cue. But Arthur crawls back up the bed and slides his fingers into Merlin's hair, kisses him hard and consuming, and yes, there are eight other people in the room, and yes, this moment will be available for download for $3.99, but in the silence, it's so _easy_ to pretend, to forget.

After a while, Arthur's rutting against Merlin's leg, arching and grinding down, and Merlin knows it's time to move things along. Wordlessly, he tugs at Arthur's hair, forcing him to pull away. Merlin looks him in the eye, wrapping one leg around his back encouragingly, and after a few seconds, Arthur seems to snap back to himself. He pushes into Merlin's body with small, cautious thrusts, his cock slick with the lube Merlin used to prepare himself before they started shooting. They fuck slow and deep, and the whole time Arthur keeps _looking_ at him, staring Merlin down, his eyes wide and so goddamn blue Merlin thinks he could drown in them.

They must be doing well, because no one is yelling stage directions, or telling them to be louder/faster/more enthusiastic. Maybe it's something to do with _atmosphere_ or _emotional honesty_ or one of those other phrases Morgana used to describe her artistic vision for the shoot, but all Merlin knows is that it feels fucking incredible, and Arthur's still a prat, but he's a prat Merlin is starting to think he would fuck even without monetary compensation.

The notion grows, becomes sort of undeniable when Arthur slides his hand between their bodies to fist Merlin's cock. The quick, rough stroke of Arthur's hand coupled with the unbearable stretch of his cock as it fucks into Merlin without respite is perfect, too much, everything. And god, Merlin's coming before he has a chance to think about what his face must look like, or whether he's making the appropriate sounds, just twisting and arching up and up, into Arthur, shivering with how good it feels. He must look pretty ridiculous, because Arthur smiles, actually, literally _smiles_ at him, almost fondly, still thrusting quick and sharp, and then, wonder of wonders, Arthur comes, not on Merlin's face or even his stomach, but inside him, so that Merlin feels every twitch, every shudder.

They roll onto their sides, panting and slick with sweat and come, and Arthur presses a kiss to the corner of Merlin's mouth, soft and sensual.

"Cut!" someone yells, and Merlin nearly jumps out of his skin.

"That was—_that_ was. You two!" Morgana is screaming in what Merlin can only assume to be excitement and not rage. When he looks at the crew, it seems as though they've mostly frozen in their tracks, equipment and jaws dangling.

Merlin stands on shaky legs and someone tosses him a bathrobe. Arthur is already robe-clad and fussing with his hair in the mirror, looking flushed and a little uncomfortable, but he hasn't fled the room yet, so there's that.

"I knew there was a reason I hired you," Morgana says. "Whatever that was? Bring it with you tomorrow when we re-shoot the dialogue, got it?"

Merlin nods. The crew bustles around, dismantling equipment and stripping the bed. Now that they've done their part, no one pays any attention to the actors, so no one notices the shy smile Arthur gives Merlin as he slips out the door, and no one notices when Merlin trails after him.

He follows Arthur to the third floor where they and the crew will be staying that night.

"I think we've outdone ourselves," Arthur says quietly, ushering Merlin into a spare bedroom where he sees Arthur's overnight bag half-open on the bed.

"Yeah. We may have created some unrealistic expectations for future directors. Can't always turn in a performance like that," Merlin says, trying to sound casual and not like he can still feel Arthur inside him.

"Well, I doubt a lot of other directors are more concerned with chemistry than penetration shots," Arthur says wryly, digging through his bag and resolutely not meeting Merlin's eye.

Merlin can't help the way his heart sinks a little. Suddenly, he wants to take a long, hot shower and possibly a nap, and he definitely wants to be far away from Arthur while he's doing it. It burns like shame in his cheeks, the knowledge that he let himself go in front of all those people. The knowledge that Arthur had to have noticed.

"Of course," Arthur says at length, and pauses. Merlin takes a cautious step closer. "Morgana seemed pretty pleased. She might even hire us again," he says, finally facing Merlin, who does his best to nod without committing to any particular emotion. His heart speeds up as Arthur says, "If she does, we'd better make sure we don't disappoint."

Merlin swallows. "And how would we do that?"

Arthur steps forward, one hand coming to rest against the back of Merlin's neck, his face unbearably close. "Practice," he says, almost whispers against Merlin's skin. Merlin kisses him, tackles him really, landing in an unsightly heap on the bed, completely unworkable from any camera angle, knees and elbows all over the place and their faces hidden by one another's hands.

"Practice," Merlin murmurs, as Arthur shoves both their robes apart. "Perfect."


End file.
